Breakdown
by Tinuviel Undomiel
Summary: Elizabeth has a breakdown that reveals her pain of losing John Sheppard.


Disclaimer: I have ten dollars in my wallet, do you really think I own a TV show?

A/N: This is a little ficlet I did for my Creative Writing class, I got a 100 on it so I'm very proud. It is also a sort of preview for a much bigger fic called Living Without You, whis is a Teyla/Ronon and Shweir fic co written by my sister Nerwen Aldarion. Sadly that fic isn't written yet, but I thought I'd give you a taste of what it to come. If you like this, be sure to read Living Without You when it comes.

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Breakdown

My office had become my sanctuary. It was simple really, I already spent my working hours in there why not my free ones as well? I needed a place to forget…everything, and reading reports, settling disputes between botanists and the cooks about more vegetarian options, and preventing scientists from blowing themselves up generally helps to take over my mind to where I could have a temporary amnesia.

Thus it was easy for me to forget about Rodney's request to unclutter one of the storage rooms. I came upon him while he and Radek Zalenka were busy arguing to keep what looked like to be a wake board. When the smartest scientists on Atlantis (they never cease to remind me about that) not to mention the most out of shape (they are still in denial about that) would ever find the time to actually use a wake board is beyond me.

"He doesn't need it!" the Czech pointed out. Who? I silently wondered.

"We can't get rid of it, though, it was his!" Rodney countered.

"He never even used it!"

"I kept this stuff in his memory," Rodney said, picking up a second item that looked to be a poster of some kind. He unrolled it and held it up to him, "This was important to him and…OW!" Rodney yelped, dropping the poster and inserting his finger in his mouth, "paper cut!"

My eyes drifted to the poster floating to the ground. It uncurled itself to display an older man dressed in a somber black with a guitar held in one hand. The Johnny Cash Poster. _His _Johnny Cash Poster. My gaze was riveted on the face frozen in the picture. Lifeless eyes looked back at me.

Suddenly I wasn't looking at the inanimate eyes of a singer, I was seeing _his_ eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes that used to laugh at me with a friendly fire; eyes that seemed to look deep in my soul were blank now. The spark of life no longer burning in them, no spirit was left to make my heart melt.

John was dead.

I saw it all again, the scream of bullets flying through the air, John pushing me away from the fighting, and then seeing his body crumple to the ground, a river of blood seeping from his chest.

My world was focused entirely on his eyes, a mixture of brown and green. Was someone screaming? Who could that be? Please John get up, we have to go home. John, stop lying down. Why is there blood on your shirt? John? John? John!

I could hear someone calling my name, but they sounded so far away. I tried to shake him, but he did nothing, just stared endlessly into space. Invisible arms grabbed me, pulling me away from John. Blindly, I fought them screaming for John to get up and help me. A sharp pain went into my arm, had I been shot?

Suddenly John was no longer resting on the ground in a bloody uniform, but was behind me in causal clothes. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to his chest. "Shhh," he murmured into my ear, "Stop fighting. I'll be here; I won't let anything hurt you." I obeyed him immediately by lying still and placing my head on his chest. My eyelids became heavy, and each blink became an effort. "Go to sleep," he whispered to me, "I'll stay with you." I buried my face into his neck and let a dark, dreamless sleep capture me.

When I opened my eyes I was no longer resting in John Sheppard's warm embrace but in one of the beds in the infirmary. At first I frowned in confusion, where was John? Why wasn't he with me? A little voice in my head sneered, _He can't be with you; he's dead_.

Dead.

"I thought she was alright," I could hear Rodney say.

I sat up in my bed to see Carson, Rodney and Dr. Kate Heightmeyer—the resident psychologist—in the doorway, unaware I had awaken.

"We all did, Rodney," Carson said, "She fooled us well."

"Very well, not even I could see the truth," Kate agreed.

"But she was fine. Nothing was wrong. She was doing her job, not even mentioning John Sheppard, why would she suddenly freak out like that?" Rodney asked.

"I don't think she ever got over her grief," Kate explained, "Elizabeth has always tried to put her job before anything else. I believe she thought to hide her pain thinking it would hamper her duties as our leader if we knew. All the stress of keeping in her feelings inside has finally caused a nervous breakdown."

"Aye," Carson agreed, "I'll recommend a temporary leave of absence when she wakes up."

Kate nodded, "I also would like for her to schedule some sessions with me so we can talk about this."

I stopped listening and flipped over on my side to stare at the wall. A silent tear rolled down my cheek and slid down to the white sheets. None of them knew how much it hurt me to lose John, especially after that night.

My memory was fuzzy on the details, but I remembered the basics. It was a typical off-world mission. I had joined John and his team to negotiate with the natives of the planet. There was a large party with a buffet of alcoholic beverages. We were smashed.

The next morning I woke to find myself snuggled beneath the sheets with a naked John Sheppard. I was scared, my job would be on the line if this got out, John could have been transferred, and my head felt like someone had taken an ax to it. So I did the only thing I thought I could do—flee. The look on his face tore my heart in two when I scooped up my clothes and escaped from the room. Maybe if I'd known I would never see him again I wouldn't have been so scared. Perhaps I would have tried to work it out instead of giving up. There were ways for us to be together if I tried. I was his commander, him my military officer; such relationships were frowned on but not prohibited.

But now it was too late. He was gone.

* * *

After Carson informed me to take some time off, I returned to my quarters to pack my things and get some sleep.

One of two was accomplished.

I lay in bed for hours remembering John's lifeless eyes. For the past few months I'd willed myself to forget everything that is and was John Sheppard. My lips refused to speak his name, and my mind quelled every thought of his rakish brown hair and the memory of that night. Guilt assailed my heart when I realized what I'd done. I never should have forgotten him. Instead of avoiding our balcony, I should have continued to visit our quiet spot late at night, where we would listen to the ocean and chat over common things. John never deserved to be erased.

"You really shouldn't heap so much guilt on your shoulders, it makes you lose your posture," John Sheppard commented flippantly.

He really was there, standing by my bed in blue jeans with a light blue shirt opened to reveal a white undershirt beneath. Too bad it was all just a dream. The John I saw was merely my subconscious brain reminding me that the greatest man I ever knew was never coming back.

"You see, that's what I'm talking about," he pointed out as if reading my mind while taking a seat next to me on the bed, "I might be dead, but it's not your fault."

I shut my eyes, "How can you say that?"

"Because it's my life, and I lived it so I'm pretty sure I know who's to blame."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I was in the way, if I'd…"

"Don't say that," he cut me off, "I never regretted saving your life, and I never will. I would do it all again if I could."

"But I want you back," I wailed, burying my face in my hands, "I don't like doing this on my own. I need you John."

"Things aren't how you think," he said, "You'll understand later," he explained when he saw my confused look, "but for now I need you to understand that it's not your fault. I don't want you to keep thinking that I regret what I did. You mean so much to me, a lot more than you think."

"But I want you here," I said.

"And I always will be," he replied, "There isn't a second that I'm not looking out for you."

A soft smile pushed at the corners of my mouth, and I lay back against the pillows. This was a dream, but it was a good one. Maybe it was true, he really was watching over me.

John smiled and got up from the bed, "Goodnight Elizabeth."

It was strange, but it was like I'd never fallen asleep. Almost as if he'd really been there, talking to me. At part of me wishes it were true, that he was alive, but I know that he is truly gone. I may look like the same Elizabeth Weir on the outside, but my heart is broken and only one man in the world could ever mend it.

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A/N: I know so sad, but if you are smart you will probably catch a few hints for Living Without You. Please review, it might make me whip out Living Without You faster. 


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